Bio Note: Summer has ended; the trees are losing their leaves. We are putting the gardens to bed for the winter. Soon the year will end. Life is all about endings and beginnings—letting go over and over again. I look to nature for courage and comfort amidst life's constant transitions.
Seasons since my father's funeral my mother's taken up knitting-- like Arachne at the loom she weaves raw threads of her past into the dyed strands of new yarn to keep herself from unraveling. Skeins of bulky yarn diminish as row upon row of stitches loop and grow together until bit by bit-- a variegated band emerges tethered as it is to the sturdy wooden needle, and is then woven into one long strand of woolen warmth. My mother's taken up knitting-- tunneling back from sorrow's fog, she replaces tears with fibers rich in blue and brown, green and burgundy-- nature's hues borrowed from sky and earth and sea all pieced together by this single pulsing thread-- a fibrous lifeline to her heart. And with each newly gathered row, she weaves the sun and the moon, she weaves the wind and the sea's breath back into her soul.
November’s Red Maple
Aflame— glinting with flecks of gold and crimson her stars detach one by one escaping like lonely drifting sighs her spiraling foliage dying spatters the ground raised veins like bold lifelines blazing their imprint upon the concrete as if to say, all of this shed for you.
©2021 Kim Klugh
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